2016 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide

by Maggie Allen

  Bee thought his smile seemed a little weak. “You can call me whatever you want if we all make it through this.”

  “It’s a deal.” Etienne gave Bee another comforting poke in the shoulder and then he sat back in his seat, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  Bee had Etienne’s can of oxygen, which had been nearly seventy percent full when they’d hooked her up to it. But she had no idea how fast her suit would go through it. Etienne’s suit, on the other hand was functional, but that bottle had only been at three percent of its capacity before they’d stopped to swap. It might have dropped to two percent in the time it had taken to switch cans.

  Bee noticed that Etienne hadn’t told either of them exactly how much oxygen was left. He’d just grimaced slightly at whatever the number had been. Bee tried to do the math in her head. Two percent of a can of O2 would mean Etienne only had fifteen minutes left, and help was at least that much time away. This was going to be close, possibly for both of them.

  Bee closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that the lunar landscape wouldn’t be the last thing she ever saw. She opened them again and looked over at Mike, who had been kind to her since the day they’d first met. Then she twisted around again to risk a look at Etienne, who she was now starting to feel that she’d misjudged. He was brave and friendly, if to a fault, and right now his eyes were closed. Before she turned around again, she closed her own eyes tightly. Now if the worst happened, she could say the very last thing she’d seen were her friends.

  Bee’s eyes popped open when Mike’s excited voice chimed in her ear. “The emergency transport! There it is!”

  The transport, a white metallic boxy vehicle, practically glowed against the lunar terrain. It was a beautiful sight. Even more beautiful were Bee’s oxygen numbers when she looked down at her sensor. Two percent. It was a closer margin than she would have liked, but help was here and she knew she would make it as long as they didn’t waste time.

  Mike pulled up next to the larger vehicle, which was extending its airlock. Bee jumped out to check on Etienne as quickly as she could, not wanting to waste any time.

  “Etienne!” Bee shook his arm. “Come on! Are you…?”

  Before she finished her sentence Bee realized that Etienne was not okay. He hadn’t reacted at all to her touch. She couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or worse. He couldn’t die now, not when help was here. She wouldn’t allow it. Bee grabbed Etienne’s arm and draped it around her shoulders.

  On Earth, she’d never have been able to lift him, with or without a space suit on, but here he was only one sixth of his weight. He wasn’t much heavier than one of the farm dogs back home, so even though he was taller and larger than she was, she knew moving him was within her power. As long as overexerting herself didn’t make her own oxygen run out. But that wasn’t important right now; whatever happened, they could revive her. But Etienne…

  With a mighty tug, Bee pulled Etienne out of the buggy.

  “Here, let me help.” Mike grabbed Etienne’s other arm and together they dragged him as quickly as they could toward the airlock. A space-suited form exited and bounced toward them.

  “We’ve got him,” Bee said stubbornly as the suit tried to intervene. “We don’t have time, just get out of the way.”

  “Okay, kids,” the adult said. “The airlock only fits three. You all go first. I’ll be right behind you. The others inside will help as soon as the airlock equalizes.”

  Bee and Mike rushed Etienne through the door. As soon as it closed behind them, Bee searched frantically for Etienne’s helmet fastenings. “Mike, help me!”

  “We can’t take his helmet off until there’s air.”

  “He’s not breathing anyway, just help me.”

  “The light on the wall will turn yellow, then green. We can’t take the helmets off until it’s green,” Mike protested.

  “Start undoing the fastenings when it’s yellow,” she commanded.

  He nodded in response. Bee looked impatiently between the light and Etienne. And then the yellow light flashed.

  As Mike worked on Etienne’s helmet, Bee rapidly worked on her own. Black spots threatened the corners of her vision. Her own oxygen was almost out, she realized. She ripped her helmet off, not paying attention to what color the light was, and then grabbed Etienne’s helmet and yanked it off too.

  She lost little time breathing whatever air she had left into Etienne’s mouth.

  Gasping, she doggedly started chest compressions. They were the most important thing, weren’t they? She tried to remember the resuscitation training that had been impressed on her many times during her childhood, but her brain was rapidly growing fuzzy. She felt Mike nudge her aside and take over. Suddenly very dizzy, she felt herself falling into blackness.

  Bee slowly opened her eyes and then squinted at the bright overhead light reflecting off the white walls. A pale blue privacy curtain blocked her view of the rest of the large room she was in, but she realized that she recognized the décor from the time she’d sliced her finger on a rough rock and had to come to the infirmary to get the cut cleaned. Bee sat up slowly and tried to clear her head.

  “Hey, you’re awake!” It was Mike. He got up from the chair he’d been sitting on at her bedside. “How do you feel?”

  Bee frowned for a moment. “Not sure. Okay, I think?” Then it all came rushing back. “Mike, Etienne? Is he…?”

  “He’s okay.”

  Bee breathed out in relief and then had to lie back down for a minute until her head stopped spinning. “What happened? After…?”

  “After you passed out? I kept resuscitating him until the airlock opened and the medtechs were able to take over. They were able to revive him and there doesn’t seem to be any permanent effects.” Mike was sober. “He was really lucky. A few more minutes and there could have been brain damage. You saved him.”

  “We saved him. And you both saved me. Team effort.” Bee looked at Mike and smiled.

  He shook his head, as if to deny his part but didn’t contradict her. “I guess we make a pretty good team then.”

  “Yup. You, me, and Etienne.”

  “Who knew?” Mike grinned.

  “Oh come on, you did! You’ve been trying to get me to like Etienne for weeks.”

  “So you’re saying I was right all along? And I might be right about other things? Like about how awesome geology is?”

  Bee crossed her arms. “Don’t push your luck, Moon-boy.” She broke into a smile..

  “Etienne’s awake if you want to see him,” Mike said, and Bee knew he was happy with her acceptance – if slightly begrudged – of his favorite counselor.

  “Definitely,” she said, uncrossing her arms. “Let’s go.”

  “Hey Iowa, how are you feeling?” Etienne sat up when he saw Mike and Bee peek past the curtains around his infirmary bed.

  Bee opened her mouth automatically to object and then closed it. Maybe it really wasn’t such a bad nickname. Iowa was a place that she loved, now more than ever. It was home and it was a part of her. And the nickname had been gifted by someone she now admired, both for his bravery, and for his willingness to sacrifice himself for someone who hadn’t even been especially nice to him.

  Bee gave Etienne a big grin. “I’m doing great. How about you?” She wrapped her bathrobe snugly around her and perched on the edge of the bed.

  “I’m doing great, too, thanks to you.” Etienne looked pale and tired, which was to be expected after what he’d been through. Still it was disconcerting to Bee to see him lying in bed. It made him look slightly diminished; normally he was so energetic she wasn’t sure he even bothered to sleep at night.

  “It was nothing,” Bee said automatically. She’d just done what needed to be done, hadn’t she? It slowly dawned on Bee that it was Etienne’s lead that she had been following. When it had been his life on the line, panicking hadn’t even occurred to her. She’d just acted. Just as he had.

  Bee could see Etienne watching her a
nd she wondered if her newfound admiration for him was somehow written on her face. Etienne’s own expression was serious, something that gave Bee pause, because of how seldom she had seen him look that way.

  “It wasn’t nothing.” Etienne gently shook his head. “You saved my life. I need to thank you for what you did.”

  “You saved my life too, so I guess we’re even. Thank you.” Bee said, crossing her arms across her chest, though it was with a smile to show that she meant what she said. She was thankful, though it was hard to say just how much out loud.

  “You’re a stubborn one,” Etienne said, relaxing his own expression into a matching smile.

  “You’re just figuring that out?”

  He gave her a small wink. “I hear you also don’t really like rocks. Or the Moon.”

  She grinned . “Not really. This place has no atmosphere,” Bee said coolly. She gave Etienne a quick glance to see if he would get the joke. She was rewarded with his barking laughter. His laugh was somewhat less exuberant than normal, but it was a relief to hear Etienne starting to sound more like himself.

  “Now, I think I made a promise to you, didn’t I? Before…” Etienne waved his hand, as if ushering that whole episode into the past. “What if I told you that the Moon is a great place for you to learn about soil composition?” As if sensing that he’d caught Bee’s attention, he continued eagerly, “Maybe we could set up some experiments for you on plant growth in lunar soil. You’ll have to do some research on what’s already been done, but maybe you’ll find a new angle. And if not, it’ll still be good for you to learn more about experimental set-ups. We might even be able to get you some Earth soil to play with too, and lots of seeds of course…”

  Bee sat silently, slightly stunned by what Etienne was saying. How had she not thought of this before now? Could she really grow plants here on the Moon?

  “That sound good, Iowa?” Etienne waved his hand in front of her face. “Hello?”

  Bee absentmindedly swatted his hand away. Her mind was racing and the possibilities suddenly seemed endless. “You would help me? I mean, you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Of course I’ll help. You and Mike can help me clear out a corner of the lab, and maybe we can scrounge up some of those plant lights from somewhere…”

  Bee listened wide-eyed as Etienne continued to list off lab equipment she might need. Mike, who had been quietly standing in the background jumped in with some suggestions of his own.

  Bee watched them both for a few minutes and then, unable to contain her growing excitement, finally broke into the conversation. “Wait a sec! I need to get my PAL. I need to record these ideas!”

  Bee rummaged through her things, finally locating her PAL in the pocket of her jumpsuit, which had been slung over the chair by her infirmary bed. She held it up triumphantly at Mike, who had followed her back to her room. “Found it! Now I can take notes.”

  “So what do you think now, Bee? Think you might consider coming back to Lunar Camp next year?” Bee looked up from where she was kneeling and couldn’t help breaking into a smile at her friend’s expectant expression.

  “You know, I just might.” She added shyly, “And you can call me Iowa if you want.”

  “I just might.” Mike gave her a grin. Bee followed him back to Etienne’s room, PAL in hand. They had a lunar garden to plan.

  Clockwork Dancer

  Brad Hafford

  When Brad Hafford was a boy he dreamed of being an explorer. Growing up on a farm it seemed impossible (and he was unsure if explorers even existed anymore), but he read constantly and continued to dream. He joined the Air Force and served overseas, then went to college to further expand his horizons. Exploring all his options, he studied many fields and earned a Ph.D. in archaeology. Now, he has lived and worked on four continents and has visited more than fifty countries. He has excavated at the great pyramids and at some of the earliest cities in the world. And he’s still exploring. He writes fiction and nonfiction and teaches archaeology and writing. He particularly enjoys writing for a younger audience — letting them know that explorers do exist and that his own adventures started from humble beginnings and became realized through travel and education. The message: See the world and never stop learning!

  North London, 1847

  A wind-up toy ballerina danced on a brass plinth. Rain tapped at the leaded glass window behind it. The dull light of a British autumn made the figure hazy, or perhaps it was the gloss of tears clinging to the eyelashes of the girl who watched it, brimming at her lower lids as she stared dreamily at the mechanical undulations.

  Oh, if only she could dance.

  But Eleanor had been cursed with a debilitating disease when she was only three years old. The doctors called it Sudden Infant Paralysis, but they didn’t really know what it was. They told her that one day they’d beat it, that she’d walk again.

  And dance.

  One day.

  When would that day come? All she could do was wait. She sketched dancers and wished she were like them. She wound up her mechanical doll and watched it do what she could not. And she submitted again and again to doctors staring down her throat, tapping her knees with rubber mallets and jabbing her with needles filled with so-called cures – none of which ever worked.

  “Eleanor?” she heard her mother call from the parlour. Her voice waltzed up the stairs and glided beneath the door. Majestic, beautiful. That was her mother, both in voice and in presence. But she was ashamed of her daughter. Or so it felt. No laughter had rung through the house, not since Eleanor was stricken.

  Now Eleanor was forced to stay inside, hidden from the world, observing the passersby from a misty leaded window on a lonely second storey. She couldn’t go to school with the normal children. She couldn’t play with the normal children. But there were many books in the old house, and she read them all. She’d even taught herself to write. Unfortunately, reading only told her more about what was normal. What she was not.

  Eleanor sobbed. She was a burden to her family. To society.

  Her mother kept up appearances well, maintaining the large north London home on a small budget while doing her best to care for her crippled child, but Eleanor knew that the endless stream of doctors cost far more money than her parents could earn. Her father was constantly gone, working two or three jobs, but it was never enough.

  A soft knock at the door heralded her mother’s arrival. The call, as always, had preceded her by several minutes, giving Eleanor time to compose herself. This time, though, it wasn’t enough. She was still sobbing softly into her scarf when the door opened.

  “Eleanor?” Her mother said and then waited through a long pause. “This is Dr. Phipps, he’s here to...” her voice trailed off. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, Doctor.”

  Eleanor looked up to see a rotund little man in a battered top hat carrying a cane in one hand and a black bag in the other. It was a bag the likes of which she’d seen many times. Too many times. Doubtless it carried the same concoctions every doctor brought, draughts and potions, jabs and poultices. They had different names and different smells, from sickly sweet to cough-inducing, but the end result was always the same – nothing.

  “Good afternoon young lady!” the doctor said. He waddled closer, like a Christmas pudding with toothpick legs. “Aloysius Berringer Phipps, at your service.” He doffed his hat and made a little bow. “Most people call me Phipps.”

  Eleanor found herself at the edge of a smile. This doctor didn’t act like a doctor. Most of them looked down on her with the stale air of superiority.

  “Isn’t this the nursery?” He said, poking his cane at a pram draped with a sheet. “Strange place for a girl your age.”

  “Father says I have to stay out of sight.”

  “Doesn’t seem right to me.” Phipps made a tut-tut sound and shook his head. “You should be in your own room. When you aren’t playing outside, that is.”

  “Oh, I can’t go outside. That would never do.”

  �
��Tosh. There’s benefit in good air and exercise.”

  Eleanor couldn’t tell if the doctor was winding her up. His tone was serious, but his meaning couldn’t be. “In case you didn’t know,” she said, “I can’t walk. I can’t even stand.”

  “Oh, I know that. But it doesn’t mean you can’t exercise. Or have fun.”

  “Of course it does. What kind of doctor are you?”

  “The best kind!”

  Eleanor couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. He was surely mad, but in a funny sort of way. She indicated his black bag. “Are you going to jab me with needles like all the rest?”

  “Heaven’s no! This is my lunch bag.” He produced a tea cake from within. “Would you like some?”

  “You’re funny.” She hadn’t meant to say it. Such things weren’t polite. “I mean, you’re not like any medical doctor I’ve ever seen.”

  Phipps bit into his tea cake. “To tell the truth, my doctorate isn’t in medicine, but engineering.”

  “You mean, like driving trains?”

  “More like building trains!”

  “Then why do you want to see me?”

  “I have a feeling your problem isn’t entirely medical.”

  “Of course it is.” Didn’t he take her condition seriously? Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest and hunched over in her chair. “My legs don’t work!”

  “True. But your mind isn’t helping. And neither are your parents, to be honest.”

  “You shouldn’t insult my family.” Eleanor spoke to the floor now, not wishing to look at the doctor. His odd disposition would only make her want to laugh. She would show him how serious her condition really was, and laughing simply wouldn’t do.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear. But really! Cooping you up in here? Not letting you reach your potential?”

  “What potential?”

  “Anything. Everything. Whatever you want, you can do it.”

  Eleanor sat silently for a moment. How she wished what he said were true! But it simply couldn’t be. “I want to walk, but my legs don’t work. So that’s impossible.”